Blood Blue Scales
by Liriel Viridian
Summary: Michael ficlet series. 1.Something about a tattoo, and a lullaby, and someone who won't leave even in the inferno of doubts. 2. Getting used to life, as it is after... just after. Healing, understanding, and humans. 3. Human sight. Angels. The inbetween.
1. Chapter 1

_When your wings_

_Are pure white_

_But they really shouldn't be_

_When the fire_

_Swirls around you_

_And burns like unshed tears_

_You pick up a sword_

_And go drown_

_The quiet rustling of scales_

_In dark, deep blood_

_Spilled instead of tears_

_Blood of your beloved enemies._

You remember the time you got the tattoo. Everyone thinks that you did it to catch Lucifiel's attention, if only for a while. They may be right, to a degree, but your main reason was different. You needed someone ho wouldn't laugh, wouldn't leave. And who better than an ancient soul of a dragon, patient like you can never be, enchanted into glittering blue scales under your skin?

You remember how Raphael looked at you, when he saw you for the first time. Pity. It was oh-so-much worse than hatred could ever feel, but in time, he understood, just a bit. You are grateful that he hasn't actually asked, but you know he has his suspicions. You don't confirm them, but then, neither do you protest. But then, you've always been able to count on Raphael. He's the only one not afraid to get burned.

You remember a human girl, from a doomed place, with dark eyes and a darker smile and shining faith, whose last breath was 'Thank you'. And when you try to scrub her blood off your hands, millennia after her death, and your eyes burn with a different, salty kind of fire in a darkness that has no place in Heaven, when you're afraid to go to sleep, an old dragon whispers/sings an equally old lullaby. Softly, so very softly, and you fall into a dream in which dragons have the eyes of a dead human girl, young and old at the same time.

It's a dark solace, but it works. For now, at least. So you are not going to ask Raphael to remove the tattoo, although you are certain that he could do it with a mere thought and really, you've outgrown the rebellious phase a long time ago. Not that anyone would know.

* * *

A/N – Somehow, I got the idea that Mika's tattoo is a lot more than it looks. And the girl came from Gomorrah. 


	2. Chapter 2

You find your cold solace outside of the reality most angels understand. You know that they think that God and Satan are dead and they are convinced that they are free, now, free to do whatever catches their fancy. After the wars, the things catching their fancy are often humans. To be used and discarded, and you sit in a coffee shop with 'Grendel' in your hand, trying to re-read it, when the tattoo prickles cold under your skin and the dead girl whispers at you to look.

You had found an understanding, on the battlefields of the last great war: you, the dragon and the girl. You were the one doing all the killing, the blood and flames swirling around your hands. The dragon, wise and patient and with a gaze clearer than the most precious diamonds, helping you with decisions. All the people you let go, telling them that there was enough death around and they were needed to at least try to rebuild what had been lost – all that people were the dragon's influence. Then there were those left dying on a battlefield you hadn't fought on, in agony when you arrived, bleeding wheezing coughing whimpering screaming… the girl would rage inside you and

'Why oh why haven't you asked Raphael to teach you? You know he would have, you know, you know, you know…'

would echo in your head and you would whisper

'I will.'

as you went around and around and around, the circles growing wider, the sharp edges of your sword staining even more crimson, and her voice would subside. That was mercy, as you could understand it then. And when the war ended…

When the war ended, you decided to give the 'human thing', as you kept referring to it internally, a try. It worked, more or less. There were parallels between ever so many books and films and melodies and the lives you knew, immortal and suddenly (but was it really sudden? You had seen it coming, after all.) completely lost. You could use those, and your position in the Hosts gave you an advantage. After all, your soldiers were quite different from others in Heaven – not only were they used to taking orders, but they also trusted you implicitly, even though they knew your temper quite well.

They were in awe of you, so they wouldn't actually ask for help in something unrelated to the military (and even then only with greatest trepidation), but if you dropped a hint, made a reference… they would get it. They would look around, look for answers where you had pointed them (and where the dragon and the girl had pointed you before), and maybe even understand some things.

That there were no clear lines anymore, in the world they found themselves in. That the free will they had been – given? forced into? – was daunting at best, terrifying at its worst. That maybe they could learn something from humans. That their seemingly young, impulsive Commander knew things he hadn't even hinted at before… just before.

Yes, the soldiers understood, at least partially. The rest of Heaven didn't. Even as they set up some semblance of government, as they tried to divide responsibilities and create a New Order (yes, they had even given it capital letters), they didn't notice whispers about 'Brave New World' and human history and unspeakable evils that could be avoided. They heeded those whispers nonetheless.

You remember planting those whispers and watching them grow into fully fledged convictions without those believing them realizing their origins. Hopefully, they never will, because for all your outward attention seeking and the insistence on being called 'Michael-SAMA, you idiots', those who matter are either family or respect you enough that shows of their deference don't matter.

You're waiting for Raphael, now, sipping a bitter double espresso, beginning to like the taste. Your friend hasn't had much time lately, but you know, you can feel it, that he's worried about you. You listen to the girl and give him a wave when he appears in the door of the small café. You have a promise to fulfill.

Time to badger good ole Rafe into teaching you to heal.

AN: 'Grendel' belongs to John Gardner, 'Brave New World' to Aldous Huxley. Both novels are superb, and I recommend them greatly, even though they aren't exactly an easy read.

Mika-chan makes a reappearance, as you can see. Not exactly a triumphant one, and for good reasons (I hope I gave at least some of them above), but still…

The 'God and Satan' issue might be addressed in another short story. Maybe. Someday. Perhaps.


	3. Human sight

Every time you tried to switch to human sight, a headache would inevitably follow. Even if you were to do it for pure enjoyment, to see things you don't get those in perfect, sterile Heaven; leaves crumbling under your feet as you took a hike through a forest, for example. You'd done so before. You found the mixed ones in Europe to be most enjoyable. There was something about the Old Continent… And now you're even thinking like a human. The girl smiles behind your eyes, because she used to get headaches too, and the dragon snorts – a wet, reptilian sound, if that's even possible.

You went to Earth and walked through cities, seeing innumerable shades of grey in the communist-rebuilt ones (after the War, oh, after the War) or blinding neon lights of places like Tokyo. Most of all, you saw people of all ages, all races, all beliefs, bathed in different lights.

Neons, distorting skin and cloth and eyes, were the closest you could get to what you were used to seeing without making the switch, except… Except. Except that, instead of a few entwined strands of light, the figures would be disturbingly solid. Except the colours wouldn't necessarily fit what those people were. Except you couldn't help but try to understand, and would inadvertently switch back at the slightest lapse in concentration.

No wonder you get cranky. Humans could pleasantly surprise you at times, but knowing everything about everyone in Heaven was hardly a nice situation to be in. Then again, it saved you from being disillusioned later on, because… Well, yeah.

You know your soldiers are different. Most of them comprise of just a few solid, simple bars of light, reassuring; quite like the minimalist art you've seen in an earthly gallery somewhere and having a similarly surprising meaning. You recall vaguely the gallery has once been a warehouse or a factory, or something. The girl has, over millennia, grown gold enough to think – loudly – of whacking you on the head. You should pay more attention, she projects at you, and you don't worry about having a split personality, not at all. Knowing better has its advantages, at times.

Other angels are coming undone. From most, just a few strands unravel, but Rosiel's lights are formed from such fine threads that they don't just look fragile, they are. You wonder who was the one holding the threads together, his lovely sister (Who glowed lilac. Mixed with extremely vibrant and tacky pink. Ugh.) or his quicksilver-shining servant who could see just as you can, because the Grigori don't have physical eyes. You suppose it doesn't matter any more.

So when Raphael struggles with explaining the concept of angelic sight to you, saying that it's quite draining and he can use it only for short periods of time, but looking at what's wrong with the body and just _tweaking_ it with a prayer is most effective, you realize that he can't access the deepest level, but is stuck somewhere in between. Angel. Human.

You don't tell him that it's your default setting, so to speak. You just resolve to make him see someday. Really see.

Only that. You wonder whether you will find a way.

Reptiles shouldn't be able to purr reassuringly, right?

* * *

AN: Well, that's another drabble, this time written to celebrate the release of vol1 of AS in my country. Huh. Never thought that would happen.

The gallery is Tate Modern. I just couldn't help myself. As far as I'm concerned, the minimalist exhibition really is the best out of those currently on display there. If you ever get the chance… Yeah.


End file.
